Fancy
by EspressoPatronum13
Summary: Her mother sold her to a whorehouse when she was twelve. She's now seventeen, and had been there for five years, doing as she was told so that her mother and baby brother could live comfortably with the money she made. But everything changes when a certain gang led by a certain blue-eyed devil walk through the front door of her whorehouse, looking for an alliance with her boss.
1. Prologue

**°Prologue°**

_I'm sad but I smile._

_That's life._

She felt numb, she realized, as she stared distantly into the cracked and muddy looking glass sitting on the small, weather bitten wooden table in front of her.

She knew that her mother was gently running their only comb through her dark, curly auburn locks that reached her mid-back in graceful ringlets.

She gazed at her wonky reflection, knowing, even with the picture muddled, exactly what she looked like. She'd been told she's beautiful her entire life, though she couldn't really see it, herself. She thought she was rather simple looking, to be honest.

Her eyes were almond shaped, and hazel—a beautiful mixture of multiple hues of brown and green with gold flakes—framed by long, thick dark brown lashes. Her eyebrows were thicker than what was in fashion, but with her family being so poor, she didn't have the money to get them groomed. Her cheekbones were high and pointed, and her chin was delicate. Her nose was button-shaped and cute—she hated that word. She'd be out with her family going to the market, trying to buy as much food as they could afford with their patriarch's measly wages from the mines, when she'd overheard one of the richer mothers telling her daughter that she was cute. Her mother had never told her she was cute before. But that wasn't really a surprise, seeing as she'd never really been the nurturing, cooing type. In fact, her mother tended to be quite the selfish type. Her mother had told her that she was pretty, beautiful, stunning even, but never cute, however, whenever she complimented her daughter, she always had this victorious look in her eye, as if her girl's looks were a prize, she had won at a state fair. She kind of resented that. But, given what was happening now, she couldn't really be surprised. Her lips were full, heart-shaped and the color of a red rose after just fully blooming. Her skin was a pale alabaster, smooth and unblemished.

She had just washed in a cold tin tub filled with icy water. She had scrubbed so hard at her skin with an old, mangy piece of wool and the only bar of soap that they had had around, that it had turned pink. She was no longer covered in dirt, and her hair was no longer tangled and greasy.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of her mother's voice. "Put this on."

She craned her neck to glance over her shoulder in her mother's direction. There, her mother stood, holding a bright red dancing dress. It had soft velvet trim outlining the modest neckline, and the small shoulder straps, but the neckline was the only thing that was modest about this dress. It would barely reach her knees, and there was a slit going up the side of the dress, that she was sure, once put on, that it would almost go all the way up to her hip.

She slipped soundlessly from the uncomfortable wooden stool and tiptoed timidly towards her mother. She took the dress with shaking hands. She took a second to pull the soft fabric up to her face and rub it against her cheek. It was silk, she realized, something she'd never even felt before. She didn't know how her mother could have afforded it, but she wasn't going to ask. Asking questions got you hit, she had learned early on in life.

Having grown up in a one room run down shack, there was no privacy, so she had no qualms about letting the robe she shared with her mother drop to the ground, leaving her in her only brassiere and panty set—it used to be a pale, rosy pink, but had since faded so much so that the color was barely recognizable. Her mother had forced her into garters, and had helped her roll her black stockings up her legs, and hooking them into place. With the help of her mother, she was able to lift the dress over her head without messing her hair up, and get it over her shivering body, where her mother was quick to start lacing up the pearl buttons on the back.

"Put these on as well." Her mother's southern twang rang in her ears as she did as she was told. Her mother had handed her a pretty pair of three-inch pumps, red to match her dress.

She stood once more, and realized that she was almost the same height as her mother now. She'd always been quite tall for her age, so she hoped she would stop growing soon. But then again, her mother had always been quite short, so maybe that was a stupid wish.

"Come here, honey." Her mother commanded softly, only doing so as not to wake Cesar—her six-month-old baby brother. She did as she was bid and approached her mother, who gently steered her so that she was standing once more in front of the looking glass. "I got this for you." She stated as she lifted a silver locket into the stream of light that was shining through their thin curtains. It was heart-shaped, and delicate, with intricate carvings of flora and fauna on the front. Her mother pulled it open and read out to her, "_To thine own self be true,_ baby." She whispered in her only daughter's ear. "Please forgive me for what I'm about to do, honey, but your father is dead, I'm sick and the baby's about to starve to death. You're our last hope."

She sucked in a sharp breath, and felt as if she were watching a stranger in the looking glass as her lips mouthed the words, "Mama, what do I do?"

"Just be nice to the men when you get there, and they'll be nice to you."

She felt like that was a lie. She had seen many men being cruel to their wives, and if they were horrid to their wives, how would they treat the whores they paid to fuck?

"Get where?" She whispered brokenly.

"To London. The whorehouse I sold you to is there, and then from there on, you'll have to answer to them. You have to be good, darlin', you hear me?" Her mother demanded, as she took ahold of her daughter's bony shoulders with equally as bony fingers. She quickly whipped the young girl around and forced her to look her in the eye. "I'm very sorry about what's happen', but we have no money, and us women don't got a lot of options when it comes to jobs, and I need to be here for Cesar. You understand?" She nodded quickly as a tear trickled down her pale cheek, but she was lying. She didn't really understand at all. She didn't go to school; she could take care of Cesar while their mother made a living by lying on her back. This wasn't fair! She was only twelve years old! "You need to be nice and do as your told. If you do a good job you get paid, and that money will be sent over to me and Cesar."

She shook her head, feeling her soft hair gently tickle her cheeks and exposed neck as she did so. "Mama, I don't want to go!" She protested through her tears.

"I know you don't honey, but do you want me to die? Do you want _Cesar_ to die?" She hesitated for a moment before she shook her head. Don't get her wrong, she loved her family, she really, _really_ did, but she didn't feel it was fair to have this burden hefted onto her small, delicate shoulders. Especially at such a young age.

"No, Mama," she whispered.

Just then, there was a heavy thud against their rickety front door.

"They're here to collect you. You be going by ship, now I don't know the conditions you'll be living in, but you'll be well taken care of."

Somehow, she doubted that.

She watched through teary eyes as her mother eagerly approached their front door, and hefted it open with a shark jerk. "Welcome. She's in here."

Two men stepped inside their little shack, glancing around their surroundings with disgust. She felt she ought to have been offended, but even she was disgusted by their home as she watched a roach crawl across the toe of one of her new shoes.

They were both wearing sharp, three-piece suits, both dark grey in color and made of fine wool. They both wore black boots, and bowler caps atop their heads. One had greying dark brown hair, and one had fine blonde tufts sticking up at odd ends under the brim of his beaver-skin hat. Their eyes, brown and grey respectively roved over her small frame, from the top of her head to her roach covered shoe.

They shared look, millions of words rushing through just that one glance, before they turned back towards her for another look. The blonde turned towards her mother, and said in a rough accent she'd never heard before, "She'll do."

Her mother nodded while her shoulders sagged in relief.

"Mama, I don't want to go." She told her mother as she approached her. Her mother looked as if she wanted to hit her, but before she could, her daughter continued, "But, I know I have to. I have to do what's best for Cesar, and what's best for you. So I will, but before they take me away, I want to say goodbye to Cesar." She noticed her mother hesitate, seemingly not wanting to get on the bad side of these men. "Please," she whispered as a pearly tear fell from the corner of her eye and made a quick descent down her cheek.

Her mother reluctantly nodded.

She was quick to make her way towards the little white crib nestled in the warmest corner of their pitiful little shack. There, her hazel eyes fell on the matching orbs of her baby brother, who smiled as soon as she came into view. "Hey, Cesar," she whispered as she carefully scooped him up and cradled him gently in her arms. "I'm goin' away for a while, but I'll be back for you someday." She whispered him her promise so quietly, the others in the room couldn't hear, even in their cramped, close quarters. "I promise. I love you." She pressed a watery kiss to his forehead, before she set him back down in his crib.

She reluctantly turned and made her way towards the two men, who pointed her towards the door. She didn't make eye-contact with her mother as she passed, hearing her baby brother begin to scream his lungs out as she took her first step out of their shack with the knowledge that she'd probably not be back for a very long time, if ever.

She was marched through town, her head hung down in shame as she avoided looking at any of the people milling about. They all knew what was happening, they could tell just by how she was dressed. No twelve-year-old dressed that revealing, not anyone respectable anyway. They all knew that her father had died when the local mine had caved in seven months ago, and they all knew that her mother wasn't really the best sort of woman. Who would think she was after news got around that she'd sold her young daughter to a whore-house for money? They weren't the only family that lost a father and a husband in that accident. Other women got jobs as seamstresses, or barmaids, or for the well-educated women, even teachers.

However, her mother was always known to be selfish, and turning out her only daughter just solidified their views.

They all watched solemnly as the young girl was directed towards a fancy town car that had been waiting for them, unable to do anything, and many not wanting to.

They all watched as the car pulled away from the curve, and started to drive away from the only home she had ever known.

She glanced one more time out the window at her town. Right outside New Orleans, Louisiana, unreputable folk weren't uncommon, but she had never thought she'd be one of them.

She sat there, not making eye contact with either her two escorts or their driver, as she made a vow to herself. She may have been born plain white trash, but she would become a lady, someday, somehow. However, before she could do that, she would do as she was told, and make sure that Cesar didn't die from starvation, sickness or abuse before she saw him again.

She rose her head once more, a new resolution in her hazel eyes as she stared out the window, the rambunctious aura of New Orleans now enveloping the car as they drove down the road.


	2. Chapter One

**°Chapter One°**

Ballet be my Blood

_I'm falling apart and nobody knows,_

_I have nobody to talk to_

_And I'm alone._

She threw herself against the rusted metal bucket she had been given as soon as she had stepped foot aboard the lovely little cargo ship known as the _Black Diamond_—or as she has secretly been calling it in her head, _Black Death_—as she heaved once more.

This was her first time being out on the water, and she quite literally felt like she was about to perish. No matter how many times those who worked on the ship around her told her that within time she would find her sea legs, with each day that passed, she couldn't help but believe them to be liars. It had already been three days, and she was absolutely sure she hadn't eaten enough food in her lifetime to be throwing up as much as she had been. Her throat burned, and her jaw was sore from being wrenched open wide enough to swallow a calf, she was sure. Her skin was pale—paler than usual, where she was usually a beautiful milky white color, her skin looked almost transparent, she could see her blue-green veins crawling up her arms in spidery trails—and her skin was coated in a cooling sheen of never-ending sweat. She didn't have a looking glass on hand, but if she did, she was sure she would look terrible. Her eyes would be red, and her cheeks would be blotchy. She'd have bits of sick dried around her mouth, and clumps of vomit stuck in her hair, which is by now tangled and greasy once more.

Thankfully, as soon as she'd stepped foot on the boat, she'd been given two new dresses, warm and woolen—it was dreadfully cold out at sea, especially at nighttime—one a dark grey and one a very pretty dark blue color—a shade she had never really seen before, almost the color of black, but not quite, the closest she could ever remember seeing anything close to that color, it was blanketing the sky at twilight as stars started to appear.

Before this, she had never even seen the ocean.

Before this, she had never even ridden in a car—her entourage had thought her wonder at the automobile very amusing. In fact, the blonde, a Mr. Gibbons, and the graying dark haired man, Mr. Wesley, were much nicer than she had originally thought they'd be, given how they'd met and what their purpose collecting her was for. Though, sadly, she hadn't really seen them since stepping foot off the pier.

She slid herself barely a couple inches away from the half-full bucket—she made a mental note to empty it later—and gently laid her head down against the cold stone floors of her quarters. It was a small box-like room, she'd say about six-feet-by-six feet, roughly around the same size as her old shack, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There was a hard cot, but she had warm woolen blankets, and her sheets may have been scratchy and stained, but they were clean and didn't smell of smoke as the bed she had shared with her mother back home did—her mother was a smoker, something she had started when she was very young, and had ended up rotting her teeth a disgusting grey color.

She let her eyelids flutter closed, feeling the soft kiss of her eyelashes hitting her cheeks as she did so.

In a pitiful bid to keep herself from getting sick once more as she felt herself rocking from side to side, she let her mind drift back to when she was around four years old.

Her mother and father were fighting again, and she couldn't bear listening to it anymore, so she was quick to sneak out the squeaky door, the noise of it slamming shut behind her not even drawing either one of her parents' attention away from their spat.

She ran barefoot down their dirt drive way and straight into town. Her feet rough and callused from never really having worn shoes, she didn't even react when her bare skin hit the boiling temperature of the road as she skipped past people, and weaved in and out of crowds.

She came to a stop next to an ornate water fountain. It was made of white marble, and there were three tiers, each section looking like a mural of underwater life. She thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen as the shimmering water was reflected back onto the stone by the sunlight. She reached a small hand in and giggled as the cool liquid tickled her fingers.

She turned around as she heard the sound of music being played. It almost sounding like a piano and violin duet, but the violin didn't sound quite right; deeper than she had ever heard it before. It must have been something bigger, with strings, close to a violin, but not quite.

She was quick to follow the sound, being too curious for her own good—but what four-year-old wasn't?

The sound led her to a small two room studio. She peeked in through the open doorway and was confronted with the sight of five little girls around her age, all from the richer part of town or straight from the French Quarter itself, wearing expensive pink tutus and pretty ballet slippers, following the instructions of their teacher as she tried to teach them how to properly do a pirouette.

The teacher, seemingly frustrated that none of her pupils were listening, turned her attention towards the door, where her eyes landed on the wide hazel orbs of the four-year-old little girl. Before she could say anything, the little girl had turned and dashed back into the crowded streets of their little town.

The next day, she'd sought out the little studio again. She didn't want to cause trouble, but watching them learn how to dance, the beauty and grace of their movements—when they finally got a hang of it and stopped tripping—was mesmerizing. She quickly found herself sneaking out of their little shack and peeking in through the open doorway and into the class.

She'd been doing this for about a week before she was approached by the teacher. "Hey, little missy," she stated, her southern accent so strong compared to some of the other accents she'd heard before. "Why do you keep spyin' on my class?" Before she could start to stutter up an answer, the woman continued. "Wouldn't you rather be learnin' to dance as well?"

She shook her head.

"I can't hear the rocks bangin' around in yer head. Ya gotta speak for me to understand you."

"No ma'am." She muttered, her voice quiet and shy.

"Well why not?"

"I don't have any money to pay for it." The little girl answered.

The woman seemed to consider this for a moment, before she seemed to have come to a decision. "Well, little missy, how about we make a deal. You come in today, take my class, free of charge, and if you find that you enjoy it, you come back every day for class, still free of charge, all that I ask is you help me with some chores around the classroom after class is over each day."

She didn't even have to think about it. Her head was bopping up and down in an excited nod before the woman could even blink, her dark auburn curls, hanging to just below her collar-bones, hitting her cheeks as she did so.

"My name is Dorothy Beaufort, but all of my pupils call me Madame Beaufort."

"Yes, Madame Beaufort." She nodded.

"What's your name?"

Her eyes popped back open, tearing herself away from the memory, as she felt the need to vomit once more take over. She was up and leaning over the bucket quicker than she would have thought possible.

She slid back down on the floor once more a couple minutes later, her stomach cramping after trying to hurl up what wasn't there, and let herself drift off to sleep, the rocking of the ship acting like more of a lullaby than a nuisance at the moment, and she was prepared to take full advantage.


	3. Chapter Two

**°Chapter Two°**

Can You Name Constellations?

_If you're feeling alone,_

_Just look up at the sky._

_The stars are there for you._

She swayed lightly on her feet as she stepped out of the confining walls of her room for the first time since they set sail.

Her first encounter with sea air was a total assault on the senses. She was hit in the face with a fierce gust of damp wind, making her lashes flutter closed as she tried to protect her face, and made her dark auburn locks whip excitedly around her head, tangling up her unruly curls which had frizzed up thanks to the humidity that she had built up in her room with her body heat and there being no windows to open to release the stale, moldy smelling air, and wet atmosphere.

The next thing she noticed was that her nose burnt as she inhaled. She flinched back and instinctively rose a hand to her button nose as she tried to rub away the stinging. She knew that the ocean was made up of salt water, she just never would have imagined that the salt would be so intense in the air as well. She noticed that the smell was extremely unpleasant. It actually kind of reminded her of that time she had brought home a litter of three kittens she had found abandoned in an alleyway when she was seven. She'd taken care of them as well as a seven-year-old girl in her situation could, but, eventually, they had died from malnutrition and lack of heat. She hid the box from her mother in hopes that if she cared for them well enough, that they would come back to life. When the smell became too much, her parents had found the box. Her Papa had been the only reason she hadn't gotten publicly whipped in their front "yard." The smell of the sea reminded her of the smell of her dead kittens. However, unlike her hidden kittens, she assumed that the smell wouldn't get worse with each day—it wouldn't get better, either—but she believed that within time, she would learn to withstand it.

Then she noticed, behind the heavy pumping and groaning of the heavy metal propellers that moved the semi-large cargo ship—which also housed multiple shipping containers that nobody would tell her anything about when they were boarding—she could hear the sound of the ocean. Waves lapping violently against the steel sides of the ship as it sailed through the tumultuous black water.

She shivered and pulled her thin shawl which had been gifted to her by Mr. Gibbons earlier that day—it had been delivered with her food along with a note, a slice of stale bread, a small block of cheese that was terribly hard to bite into and a tin can filled to the brim with tepid, fresh water.

She was wearing her grey dress—she was saving her blue one for when she was sure that she would no longer get sick; which she hoped would be soon—and some comfy slippers made out of silk and stuffed with goose down—courtesy of her future employer, she'd been told by Mr. Wesley.

She stepped closer to the edge and gazed down, staring into the waters that seemed to be endless. She could only tell that they were on water and not sailing away into the night sky to live with the stars because of the ripples and grey waves that splashed against the ship as it chugged along.

She sighed as she thought of what was left of her family. Who knew what her mother would be doing now? She had been paid upfront for her daughter, and had been told that she would receive monthly payments from one of their employers whom worked in the states as long as her daughter was good and did as she was told.

She sniffled as she imagined what Zar would be doing then. She didn't quite know where they were, but she figured there had to be somewhat of a time difference. They'd been sailing for about a week now, and had come quite a way, but she knew even without being able to read a map, that they still had a long way to go before they reached England.

She could still hear his little laugh. It was a cross between a squealing lamb and a wail, but it was perfect and lovely because it came from him. She could still picture his wisps of chocolate curls and his chubby cheeks. She could imagine his dimple dipping into his left cheek as he smiled. She could imagine his pale, white skin and, if she concentrated hard enough, she could still imagine just how soft that skin was.

She was quick to wipe away the tear that fell from her eye. She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to think of something else.

To distract herself from her morose thoughts, she turned on her heel, leaned her back against the railing behind her, tipped her head back and gazed up at the sky. A sheet of black spread from East to West and completely covered everything from North to South, littered with tiny little sparkling dots.

When she was little and she couldn't sleep, her father had told her to try counting the stars—he had taught her numbers, said even though she couldn't go to school didn't mean she couldn't know simple things like counting and her ABC's—however, that hadn't worked for her. So, instead, she tried to find pictures in the stars.

Back home, peering through the splintered window pane that faced away from their dreadful little town directly outside New Orleans, she would gaze up at the stars and find a smiling bear, a grizzled old lady with a thousand wrinkles, and a hand, reaching out from the heavens and towards her, bidding her to take it and be pulled up into the clouds where she could live the rest of her days blissfully at peace.

She searched for that hand now, the hand, her father had told her, that belong to God, however, she was saddened when she realized that she couldn't seem to place it.

"Can you name constellations?" A rough, accented voice asked her.

She gasped and jumped, backing painfully into the metal railing behind her. She placed a small hand over her rapidly beating heart as her head swiveled towards the direction the voice had come from. "Who's there?" She rasped.

"Name's Chalk, Missus. You's must be the little lady that we're to be deliverin' to Mister Shepherd." Chalk stepped into view. He must not have been older than twenty, with wild blonde hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail at the nape of his neck. His face was dirty and streaked with oil. His skin was tanned and his hands looked rough from hard work. He wore run down overalls littered with holes and stains, patched in multiple areas as well.

She swallowed nervously as she gazed up at Chalk. He was easily a foot taller than her. She took a discreet step away. His eyes flickered down to her feet to watch the movement, but he didn't comment and he didn't seem the least bit offended. "I wouldn't know. I was never taught constellations."

Chalk grinned, showing his yellowing teeth, but something about his smile looked so sincere and innocent, that she found herself relaxing. "Me neither, but I found a book on it back in the states a few years ago, I read it over and over till I memorized everyfink in there."

She smiled back, the movement feeling foreign on her features. She hadn't smiled since she'd been sold. "Forgive me for my manners." She muttered, sounding just like the little lady that Madame Beaufort had been trying to turn her into since she was four. "My name is—"

She was interrupted by Chalk. "The whole crew know what yer name is, little lady. Don't need ta be introducin' yerself to me."

She smiled kindly. "Well, it's still nice to meet you, Chalk."

She extended a pale hand, beaming pearl white in the moonlight. Chalk seemed hesitant to touch her skin with his own, as if afraid he might dirty her, but after a moment he placed his warm hand around her own. They shook twice before releasing.

"So, Chalk, tell me about the constellations. I want to learn everything." She spoke, starting to get excited. She always loved learning new things.

Chalk leaned his back against the railing, making sure to keep at least a foot of distance between them when he did so. He pointed up at the sky and said, "Well, that there is the Big Dipper, then you've got Orion's Belt there..." Chalk's rough, heavily accented voice was soothing on her ears as she tried her hardest to follow his finger as he whizzed by names of both constellations and stars alike. "There are some constellations you can't see because of our position at the moment, but there are certain places in the world—or so I've read—that make constellations visible every night."

She gazed up at Chalk in fascination.

"Could you teach me?" She asked excitedly.

He grinned down at her. "Sure, Little Star. I'll teach ya. I could use a friend on the God forsaken boat."

Her gaze turned sad and melancholy as she mumbled. "I could use a friend, too."

He gently bumped her small shoulder with his elbow. "Cheer up, 'lil girl. I'm yer friend now. You can count on ole Chalk now... or at least until we dock."

Her hazel orbs lit up as she beamed up at her new friend. She had never really had a friend before, so this was a new experience for her, but she figured, for now at least, it would be nice to not be so alone.

"You should get to bed, Little Star. I have to be up early to do me chores, and you look dead on yer feet."

She wanted to protest but was interrupted when a large yawn spread her mouth open. She covered her lips with her hand and snapped her mouth closed with an audible _clack_ as her teeth connected. "I guess you're right." She stepped away from the railing and began to make her way back to her room. She turned and looked over her shoulder, the moonlight casting a heavenly halo of white and silver around her form as she gazed back at him. "Good night, Chalk."

"Yeah, night, Little Star." He waved her off and watched her go, not leaving from his position until he couldn't see her anymore.

She stepped just outside her room and turned her gaze back to the sky in search of the Hand of God once more. She sighed when she didn't find it but found her hope renewed for both her future, Zar's future and now Chalk's future as her gaze landed on that of Orion's Belt.

She stepped into her room and closed herself off from the sea air as she pulled her shawl off and draped both that and her shoes on the lone stool sitting in the corner of her quarters. She slipped into bed, pulling the cold sheets up to her chin and closed her eyes.

Maybe once they got to England she's be able to find her Hand of God again.


	4. Chapter Three

**°Chapter Three°**

New Friends

"_We must reach out our hand in friendship_

_And dignity both to those who would_

_Befriend us and those who would_

_Be our enemy."_

_~ Arthur Ashe_

She felt a smile drift across her face as she gazed into the kind brown orbs of her new friend as the sun shone down in patches through the clouds.

She had started to spend more time out of her quarters after she met Chalk. He was very kind and funny, and he had started to share his book with her. Turns out, Chalk couldn't read, either, however, he had memorized the pictures and drawings from the book, and had asked around the other crew members who _could_ read to tell him the names of each constellation.

He had quickly become her best friend within the week that she had known him. He was actually her _only_ friend—she'd been a bit of a loner before she... left. Girls her age back in her hometown right outside of New Orleans hadn't really gotten along with her. They had always been very rude, but she never let that bother her. Her Mama had told her it was just because those girls were jealous of her beauty; she, however, thought girls from the upper class were just snobs. Besides, she got along better with boys, anyhow.

She let her mind drift off as Chalk continued telling her the story about how his brother had been bitten on the bum by a dog that he had made angry.

"Chalk," she interrupted him; however, he didn't seem to mind. He stopped talking and waited patiently for her to continue. "What's going to happen to me when we get to England?"

"What do you mean?" He asked, his brow furrowed underneath the layers of grime and sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

"I mean, as soon as I get to the—_house_, am I going to be forced to," her voice wobbled as her breath hitched in her throat. She gave a delicate cough, and shook her head. "I mean, I'm only twelve, so maybe..."

"Mr. Shepherd's real nice, Little Star. And his mother who helps 'im run the house is a lov'ly lady, Star. Don't worry about it. Even if Mr. Shepherd wanted ya to start right away, his mother, Madame Marie-Ann wouldn't let him. She's got a real soft spot for her girls, you'll see."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better, and he probably wasn't lying either—he'd been working for Mr. Shepherd since he turned twelve, helping ship "_cargo_" from multiple different countries and back to him—so he must know his bosses at least a little by now, but she couldn't help the sickening tingling in her stomach. She was hoping to get a little bit more information on Mr. Shepherd, before they docked, however, Chalk didn't look as if he wanted to continue talking. She figured she could get more information out of him later, they still had at least two weeks left on the sea, maybe three if the weather was bad.

She felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes as she thought about what she was being sent to England to do. She knew her mother had done it because it was what was best for both herself and Cesar, but she felt her mother should have been the one who became a whore. Or, at the very least, came to England with her. She missed Zar, and her Papa.

There wasn't much to do on the little cargo ship, but she entertained herself by drawing little pictures in the condensation that appeared on random flat surfaces made of metal and glass. Also, she and Chalk had a ball with a few other crew members when playing cards. She had been taught how to play poker, and even though she hadn't started out very good, she continued to practice and had gotten better since first being introduced to the game.

She bit her bottom lip and released a heavy sigh as she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and relished in the warm feeling of the sun's ray tickling her pale skin.

"I'm going to miss you, Chalk. You're my first friend, ya know?"

He grinned, showcasing his yellow teeth. "I'm gonna miss ye too, Star. But we don't got to say goodbye till we dock, and tha's not for a couple weeks at least. _'Don't live in fear of the future, revel in the present and treasure the past'_ that's what me Mum used to say 'fore she died."

"That's beautiful, Chalk," she grinned.

He waved his hand in front of his face as if he were trying to swat a fly away. They both heard the captain call out to Chalk, demanding for him to get back to work.

"Duty's callin'. Sorry, Little Star. See ye later."

She waved half-heartedly as she saw him walked away. She shifted away from the railing and started to make her way back to her little room.

She knew it would be heart-wrenching when she would have to say goodbye to Chalk. He really was a wonderful friend, and he had a way with words that pulled her back from the brink when she got lost in the harrowing depths of her thoughts.

She pushed her heavy door open, slipped inside, and allowed it to slam closed behind her. She was quick to light a few candles scattered around her room, bathing both her and her surroundings in an orange glow.

She sat down on her bed and watched, entranced as the flames danced. As hard as she tried to fight it, she allowed herself to think about England and all that it meant.

She figured she'd be forced back into her red dancing dress, shoved into another car and then driven to her new home—could she even call a whore house her home? There, she would most likely meet Mr. Shepherd, and if what Chalk said was to be believed, Madame Marie-Ann. They'd probably decide what to do with her, where to put her and whatnot. Then she'd be forced to fuck men for money, let them do horrific things to her—maybe even beat her if that's what got them excited—and then her _hard_-earned money would be taken away and shipped back to her horrible mother and her sick baby brother.

She swallowed the bile that tried to rise up in her throat as burning tears slipped down her pale, freckled cheeks.

She wished she had a say in the matter, but truth be told, she probably would have chosen to do this exact thing if given the choice—she knew her mother wouldn't do it herself, she never wanted to have a job in the first place, let alone be herself brought down to the level of a woman of the night. However, even if her mother forced her to make a living on her back, she would have rather done it back home, right outside New Orleans, so she could still be with Zar.

She let her shawl slither down her shoulders and land on the bed as she shuffled backwards, kicked her slippers off and snuggled under her blankets. She laid down and closed her eyes, not fighting it as she was swept away into her dreams.


	5. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

I Can't Breathe

"**How can I live in the moment**

**When my thoughts never feel like my own**

**And don't know how to admit that I'm broken."**

~ i can't breathe, Bea Miller

She felt like her chest was being weighed down by thousands of pounds of heavy rocks. She felt like the world around her was caving in, trapping her in a never-ending darkness without a candle to light the way through the passages.

A month had passes by seemingly in the blink of an eye, and after having to say goodbye to the only friend she'd ever known, she'd been shoved into an expensive looking car, accompanied by both Misters Gibbons and Wesley.

She stared outside the opening in the door closest to her, green eyes wide with wonder as she took in the sites all around her. Sure, the sky was grey and the howling winds were nippy, but she thought her new surroundings were beautiful. The sound of birds cawing and singing away echoes through the breeze and the indistinct chatter of those they passed whipped by her ears which were slowly turning red thanks to the cold.

Living in Louisiana, she hadn't really had to deal with too cold of weather. It could get chilly and some nights in the winters especially January could get particularly freezing, but it never lasted too long.

She slid slightly in her seat, bumping into Mr. Gibbons who was sitting next to her.

"Sorry," she mumbled shyly, her voice soft and almost inaudible thanks to their noisy surroundings.

Mr. Wesley was sitting up front, chatting quietly with the driver who hadn't so much as looked her way since they had settled into the leather seats of the car.

She felt her thoughts drift back to her family, wondering what they'd been doing for money since she'd been gone. It's not like she'd been working that month and a half long trip overseas. Maybe her mama had started a small seamstress shop inside their rickety shack, but knowing her mother, she was both too stupid and too selfish to even try.

She heaved a deep sigh as the telltale burning behind her eyes told her that tears were soon to follow. She blinked rapidly, her dark brown lashes fanning her cheeks as she did so.

She was startled out of her thoughts when the car came to a jarring halt. Mr. Wesley turned around in his seat to look at her. "We're here."

His words were simple but the meaning behind them was not. She felt panic seize her throat as she released a choked cough.

She felt her breathing start to speed up as the men around her were quick to get out of the automobile, waiting impatiently for her to follow suit.

She took a careful jump out, seeing as the car was so much taller than she was. Her rundown slippers hit the muddy cobble-stoned street with a nearly silent _thump_.

Her green eyes stared up at the tall building in front of her with unbridled fear. It looked to have at least five floors, not including a basement if there was one. The roof was pointed and made up of black shingles. The stone was white and the doors were made of a heavy black wood. However, what was so strange about a seemingly normal building was that there were no windows. It was just a large square, similar almost to a court-house in appearance, however, she knew that whatever went on inside this building was anything _but_ lawful.

Mr. Wesley set a gentle hand on her small shoulder and started to steer her up the steps and towards the front door.

However, instead of just opening the door, he took hold of the ornate bronze knocker hanging stoically from the door, and proceeded to make a small, rhythm against the heavy wood. Ba-bump, bump-bump, pause, bump, pause, ba-bump.

If you asked her, she thought it sounded kind of silly, but seeing the serious faces of her entourage, she worked hard to keep a smile off of her face.

She squeaked with surprise as the heavy door was pulled open. Standing behind it was a woman of mid-to-late thirties. She had blonde hair held up in a strict bun on top of her head, blue eyes, thin eyebrows, sharp cheekbones and thin lips. She was tall and very bony. The dress she wore was similar to that of a library matron.

"What do you want?"

Her voice surprised the young girl as instead of the funny noise she'd grown accustomed to hearing while on the _Black Diamond _coming out of her mouth, a heavy, hard to understand growl slipped out instead.

"We've got a new shipment in." Mr. Gibbons' answer was short and clipped. He sounded as if he had absolutely no emotion hiding anywhere inside of his body.

The woman's blue eyes went from the top of the young girl auburn colored head to the old and holey flats slipped onto her feet which she had long-since outgrown.

"This is her?" the woman asked as she raised a pointed eyebrow.

"Yes." Mr. Gibbons answered.

"She is child." the woman snapped.

"She was sold to us." Mr. Gibbons growled back.

She looked like she wanted to argue, however, after having a brief stare-down with Mr. Gibbons, she sighed and stepped aside.

"You may go up to see Mister Shephard. I take small child to bathe."

The young girl looked up at Mr. Wesley, a silent plea in her eyes that was ignored as he gently pushed her towards the older woman who was waiting, hand outstretched.

She slipped her much smaller hand into the older woman's and following behind her as she led up her the stairs to the second floor and down the hall to the left. There was only one door, made of a rich brown.

The young girl honestly wasn't surprised when the door was opened. Everything she'd looked at as soon as she had stepped inside the building was opulent and expensive. Made of gold or out of treasured jewels. There were large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with hundreds of diamonds adorned on them. There were large paintings that she was sure would cost more than everything she'd ever owned combined multiplied by one hundred. The carpet was thick and the color of rich burgundy. The walls were painted a sleek champagne. It was all so much that it began to feel suffocating.

There was a large copper bathtub in the center of the room and three long racks that held fluffy white towels. There was a large vanity to the left of the tub, and many assortments of beauty products were laid out neatly on the counter.

"Strip."

It was a command but she didn't really want to. She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears.

"Strip." she persisted with a scowl.

She crossed her arms and backed away, not wanting the woman to come any closer.

The foreign woman sighed and bent down at the waist so that she was closer in height with the scared girl in front of her.

"My name is Alena. I was sold just like you to this house. It is my job to get new girls ready. If you don't want to be beaten, you do as I say. Yes?"

There were strange pauses in-between her words as if she wasn't quite sure what to say next. Her strange accent was actually quite pleasant to listen to, and if she had bumped into Alena on the streets, she was sure she would have loved to just sit and listen to her talk, however, being in this situation the only thing she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and weep.

She hesitated a moment before she nodded her head once.

Alena was gentle as she helped the child out of her blue wool dress. She was careful and sweet as she helped her into the tub and started to comb out the young girls' long red curls.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh as she felt the woman's fingernails gently scrape against her scalp as she massaged rose scented shampoo into her hair.

Her mother had never washed her hair for her before. Or tucked her into bed at night. Her mother had always been more worried about herself and her image to those outside of their shack to even think about doing anything of the sort for her one and only daughter.

Before long, her bath was done and she was dried off and scented oils were dabbed on both wrists, behind each ear, on the tops of her barely budding breasts and on her lips down _there_. She was then placed back into the red dress her mother had forced her into a month ago. Her hair was curled and half of it was twisted and braided into a crown on top of her head. Charcoal was applied carefully to both her top lids and her waterline. Alena pinched her cheeks to get some color and dapped a small bit of pale pink crème to her lips.

Alena helped her slip her heeled shoes onto her feet before she stood in front of her, a look of concern etched across her slowly aging features.

"Now, you will meet Mister Shephard and Madame Marie-Ann. They will look you over and decide which girl to give you to. She will teach you everything you will need to know to work in pleasure house. They will also give you new name. No ask questions."

The young girl opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it and closed her mouth just as quickly with a small _click_ as her teeth banged together.

She followed Alena out of the bathroom back down the hallway and back to the first floor. She was quiet, her hands clasped together in front of her as she followed behind the older woman.

She was told to wait where she was while Alena went ahead.

Before long, the Russian woman was motioning for her to move forward. At first it felt like her feet were made of lead but when she saw Alena's hand move faster, she forced herself forward.

Her heeled shoes made small clicks against the marble floor as she made her way into the room. Her eyes were locked on the floor in front of her, studying the swirls in the stone as if it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

"Look at me."

A male voice sounded from in front of her.

She sucked in a steadying breath and hesitantly raised her head. Her green eyes made contact with brown as she looked upon the man who had bought her for the first time. She supposed he was handsome. He had dark brown hair, hazel brown eyes, full lips and a chin dimple. He was sitting behind a large desk, his pale hands entwined on top of it.

Next to him was whom the young girl assumed was his mother. She was short, barely even taller than herself. She had black hair, the same hazel brown eyes as her son. Her cheeks were round and red and her full lips were lifted into a motherly grin.

"What is your name, young lady?"

It was Madame Marie-Ann who spoke this time.

She hesitated before she whispered her name.

"Speak up, dear, we don't like those who mumble. It impolite."

She swallowed and felt hear chest convulse as she found the forgot how to breathe. She repeated her name, louder this time, her southern accent shining through.

Mister Shephard grinned wolfishly down at her from his seat behind his desk in a chair that looked much like what you'd assume a throne would.

"Sounds fancy. Will you be my fancy girl?" he asked.

She felt her eyes burn with tears as she forced herself to answer. "Yes."

His eyes glinted with something she couldn't quite explain. "Splendid, welcome to the family, my Fancy."


	6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"**Sometimes you will never**

**Know the value of a moment**

**Until it becomes a memory."**

**~ Dr. Suess**

She finally let her tears fall once she was locked away in her new bedroom, the only light coming from the small flame that danced by her bedside. Her little body shivered and shook as her back hunched by the force of her sobs as they tore through her throat and out of her mouth. She lifted her hands and pressed them against her mouth, hoping to smother the sound of her cries. She wasn't sure what would be done to her if she were to disturb the _business_ that was going on in the rooms surrounding her own.

Her body felt weak and brittle as she collapsed against the soft downy mattress that was now hers. She knew she should feel comfort. She was now living in a fancy room in a fancy building. She would get two full meals a day and be dressed in the finest fabrics and jewels befitting her new _station_—anything to make her more attractive to their customers, she assumed. However, she couldn't help but wish to be back in their shack outside of New Orleans, the crickets chirping and the cicadas singing as laughter of children echoed and French was spoken more often than English.

She knew she should feel all of these things, but who could blame her for wanting to be back home?

She kicked her shoes off, the heels falling soundlessly against the thick rug as she settled on her side and curled in a tight ball, her knees to her chest. She whimpered and pressed her face against her pillow. "Daddy, help me, please. Quiero ir a casa."

She didn't know how long she laid there, calling for her dead father to come and save her from these monsters her mother had sold her to, but she knew that eventually, she fell asleep.

She was awoken by a gentle shaking of her shoulder. She stirred and tried to bat the hands away. "Un peu plus Maman."

"You speak French?"

It was the unknown voice that completely broke her from the realm of sleep. She shot up and scooted as far back on the bed as she could, away from the stranger.

She felt her chest tighten as she realized it was no dream and she was really sold to a whorehouse in London by her mother. She bit her lip as she felt it wobble. She refused to let the people here see her cry. If she was going to be weak it was going to be when she was alone, where no one could see or hear her.

Standing in front of her was a girl, about sixteen. She had curly brown hair that was cropped close to her ears, doe brown eyes and slim cheeks. She had a long neck and small chest. She was rather tall as well, for her age, at least. She offered a comforting smile, showing off a small gap in-between her two front teeth.

"Who are you?" _Fancy_ demanded in a shaky voice.

"I'm Helen." She introduced herself with an awkward curtsy in hopes of getting the young girl in front of her to smile. However, _Fancy's_ expression did not change. "You speak French?"

_Fancy_ didn't know why she kept asking, but decided to answer in fear of what would happen if she didn't. "Yes. And Spanish."

"How would a poor girl from America know three languages?" Helen asked, her brown eyes shining in curiosity.

_Fancy_ didn't really want to answer and it didn't seem as if Helen was expecting one as she quickly clapped her hands twice and motioned for _Fancy_ to get up from the bed and follow her.

She did as she was told, her red dress now crinkled, had ridden far up her thighs in her sleep and she was quick to tug it back down as far as it would go, embarrassed, though she assumed that she would quickly have to get over that.

"Follow me."

She followed Helen as she brought her back the way she had came the night before, however instead of going back to Mister Shephard's office, the took a right and came upon what seemed to be a communal dining hall. She screeched to a halt as she was confronted with about seven other girls, all varying in ages from fourteen to at least mid-twenties.

All those in the hall, including Alena, Madame Marie-Ann and Mister Shephard had turned to look at her, and that was when she'd noticed that she was barefoot, and she didn't even want to think about what the makeup Alena had put on her face last night had done while she was crying and asleep.

Mister Shephard stood as the other girls started to whisper to each other and giggle. Helen stayed by her side, and even though _Fancy_ didn't trust her, she at least knew her more than the others she was now standing in front of. The only person _Fancy_ really felt comfortable with was Alena and the Russian woman seemed far more interested in her oatmeal to come to her rescue.

He spread his arms wide as if he were about to embrace her and smiled ear to ear. "My Fancy, good morning! How did you sleep?"

Fancy didn't really know how to answer that. "Fine."

He moved around the heavy oak table he, his mother and Alena were sitting at, him to the far left, Madame Marie-Ann on his direct right and Alena next to her.

"Thank you, Helen," he muttered as he passed the older girl, however he stopped and let her whisper into his ear. His eyes lit up and his smile widened even more if that was possible. He held a hand out for Fancy, waiting for her skin to come into contact with his. After hesitating for a second and briefly entertaining the idea of just ignoring him and following Helen, however she didn't want the beating Alena had threatened her with the night before and decided to take his hand. He inhaled sharply and his pupils expanded large enough that there was only a slim ring of hazel as his eyes stared into her own emerald green orbs. His grip tightened around her hand. He led her over to the head table, pulled a spare chair next to his seat and forced her down. She was quickly served oatmeal and a small patty of burnt sausage.

_Fancy_ was very aware of just how quiet the dining hall was as not even the scraping of utensils sounded again. Every single pair of eyes was on her. She felt like an ant the street children used to torture using pieces of broken glass to direct burning rays of sunlight onto their tiny writhing bodies. She wished the ground would open her up and swallow her whole. Alas, her wishes, once more, went ignored.

"So, the lovely Helen told me that you, My Fancy, speak French."

It wasn't a question. She nodded, afraid to open her mouth. If she didn't, she didn't know what sound would come out.

"Do you speak any other languages?" Madame Marie-Ann asked, craning her head to peer around her son at the young red-headed child sitting next to him.

_Fancy_ nodded.

"Use your words, child." Madame Marie-Ann chided gently.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, tell us."

She cleared her throat, the sound loud in the silent room. "I speak French and Spanish, ma'am."

"And how did you learn these languages?" Mister Shephard asked as he speared a boiled potato with a fork.

"Everyone speaks French in the Quarter and my Daddy was half Spanish, half Irish." She explained.

"And how did that come to be?"

"My great grandparents were Irishmen, and they'd heard of a land flowing with riches and health. So they moved from Ireland to Spain where their son fell in love with a local Spainard girl. They got married and had children, one of them being my Daddy. Daddy, however, had wanted to explore so he moved to America where he met my mother." _Fancy_ had heard this story hundreds of times as she grew up, she knew it by heart now and the words flowed out of her mouth with the ease of water flowing down stream.

Mister Shephard smiled, though, it wasn't a nice one. "What a wonderful tale." His tone, however, showed that he thought her story was anything _but_ wonderful. "Do you have any other special talents, My Fancy?"

"I can do ballet and I can count." She admitted.

"Can you read?" Madame Marie-Ann asked.

Her cheeks flared bright red as she muttered an embarrassed, "No,"

She heard the other girls giggle and her blush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.

Mister Shephard raised a single hand and all sound silenced immediately.

"How long have you been dancing?"

"Since I was four years old."

"Well, we have a spare room, if you ever want to use it so that you don't fall out of practice, just ask."

_What would I have to do for you in return?_

Instead, she said, "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

And breakfast continued as it had been before she'd arrived. However, Fancy had to continue eating as Mister Shephard's hand slid under the table and crawled onto her knee. She kept quiet and kept her eyes on her food as his hand inched higher and higher. She could do nothing, trapped and alone, with no way out of this living nightmare.


End file.
